My Nakama
by Arouse Death
Summary: Initially the idea was to write a fan fiction about Samuel Drake. While I was writing, however, I have realized that there is virtually nothing to do with the saga of Uncharted. In the game you can observe several things, but the real and harsh reality? I tried to imagine it.


**/✡ NOTES OF THE AUTHOR:** Hello everyone! I'm new in this site of fan fiction! Before leaving the reading, I wanted to tell you that initially the idea was to write a fan fiction about _Samuel Drake_ , ( Uncharted 4 , you know?). While I was writing, however, I have realized that there is virtually nothing to do with the saga of Uncharted, if not thoughts, names and some characteristics of the characters.

Initially my goal was to expose any subjects not covered ( always according to my imagination), and then transport in the world and in the mind of Sam, you can say, "protagonist". In the game you can observe several things, but the real and harsh reality? I tried to imagine it.

Excuse me for any typing errors and mistakes expressive, but it really is a lot of time that I do not write. **_Let me know what you think_** , both for private message that for review, for me it is very important for us to know that. Thanks anyway to everyone. Good reading!

 _Ps: I'm sorry for terrible my English, but I'm not a native speakers, I'm italian._

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 __ _ **Prologue - I lost myself for a phew minutes.**_

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That night was incredibly cold. Everything was flooded by an immense and suffocating darkness. You could catch a glimpse of a tavern and a small half-empty parking lot, only thanks to the neon signs of the unknown locally.

That night was foggy but the water droplets coming down on the asphalt appeared to many pins. At one point you could see a man, neither too young nor too old, who walked briskly toward the tavern. While clutching his Jean jacket worn as if it could fully warm it up. He stopped momentarily before the wooden steps of that place. Permitted himself a few moments to catch his breath. He realized he no longer have the lungs of a time, and probably also knew why.

Blame all those packets of Chesterfield that he consume day and night. The man stepped across the threshold of the room, and was immediately hit by a cloudy and pleasant warmth. The smell of beer and toasted peanuts the appetizing nose.

Before proceeding, however, took one quick look left, then right. Still had the terror of not being yet completely escaped the imminent danger than before. Having satisfied himself that the only ones to be at that bar were a young drunk with his head resting on the counter and three middle-aged men who smoked cigars and played cards, he quickly quieted down. Headed for one of the many uncomfortable bar stools and sat down.

Brown haired man closed his eyes for a moment, and passing quickly hands on temples, gave a long sigh. At some pointed you enchanted.

He began to set behind the bar, completely absorbed by his confused thoughts. Damn, how did his head hurt. He was tired. Awfully tired. He wasn't worried about fatigue. No. He thought and thought about the fact that he can't do more to carry the weight of everything on his shoulders. Couldn't make it anymore. He felt guilty, for everything. What kind of person had become? He lied all the time. As soon as things were getting difficult, lied and then ran away.

He knew not to be that kind of person, it was not so. What had driven him to act in this way? Probably its reason for being, the most important dream of his entire existence. He didn't want to, he had to accomplish what his mother had always worked. When ' that thing ' came into contact with the rest of the world, the second disappeared. He could no longer see each other. But he didn't want to hurt the people whom he had next door, not wanted. It was as if more loved and more hurt. And what made him more harm ever wasn't hurting itself because he did so unknowingly. What she was wearing down inside was the knowledge that you have injured. What had become? He was tired. He didn't want to run away as he did on time.

" What can I get you? " Asked a female voice from the Scottish accent.

The man with hazel eyes almost jumped off his stool.

" Huh-uh, yeah, right. " He said absently, then trying to move away from those horrible thoughts that didn't stop to trouble him.

" Give me a glass of rum, preferably a Diamond Dark " He looked up and ordered one of his favourite drinks. He needed something strong.

While the woman took a small glass and leaned on the cold marble bar, thoughtful man he pulled from the right pocket of his blue jeans a little wrinkled leaflet. He slowly opened and read an address. Turned it over multiple times between your hands and then swung him in front. Read letter after letter.

 ** _' little brother. '_**

Gave a hint of a smile. God, it had been so long. _"Soon I will join you. I promise you, Nate, " H_ e whispered almost completely undetectable.

The woman at the counter Uncorked a bottle of amber filled with rum and poured the contents into the glass.

"Here you go." She said in a dry tone. Meanwhile tried to stretch the neck in the hope of seeing what was written on that note.

The man from the blue jeans he noticed, then drew back immediately the slip of paper clearing his throat. Then I put in the inside pocket of his coat.

" Thanks. " He cut her short. He hastily the glass in his hands and brought to your chapped lips. Before you gulp down the drink, however, remained some time to get drunk with the smell of caramel. It was just what he needed

After you have finished drinking, she decided to go to the bathroom. He thought that once came out of there, he could have asked the bartender when she would come to cost staying there for one night. He wasn't sure that he could walk at night. Then stood up and left on the counter a five dollar bill.

He motioned with his head to the woman who was drying a glass with a rag.

An expression of terror appeared on the pale woman's face. She opened her mouth, afraid, looking behind the man's shoulders.

He tried to turn around, but failed. Suddenly he felt pressed against his back the barrel of a gun.

" Don't move. " A voice rang out slowly.

The man made to turn around, but that person rushed to stop him with words.

" Sam ... No! "

He turned quickly. And there it was. Another of his guilt. Slightly opened lips and enrage his eyebrows, thus showing all the displeasure that wore on his heart for a long time.

He was dried completely the throat but managed to say something totally subdued tone.

"... Ingrid. "


End file.
